


You Were A Shelter

by Cheshers



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Post-Trespasser, lots and lots of elves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-11-10
Packaged: 2018-08-22 11:11:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8283832
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cheshers/pseuds/Cheshers
Summary: Elves have been disappearing all over Thedas, including the Inquisitor's own clan. She eventually manages to track them to an elven ruin in Tevinter - but they are not alone. This little fic is set approximately six months after the events of Trespasser.





	1. Her Kin

She's never seen this many elves gathered in one place before. The ancient temple, previously left desolate and forgotten, is buzzing with life, and the aravels surround it like a fleet of ships. There are families here, nomads and servants, Dalish and city elves alike. All drawn here by the same calling. It's incredible, but she can't shake the growing sense of dread in the pit of her stomach.

What if her clan never made it here? Would _he_ allow them here, given the very real possibility that she might follow them straight to him? Considering the kind of person Solas claims to be, it doesn't seem at all far-fetched. The thought is deeply troubling. But when all of them left Wycome, disappearing like so many elves across Thedas in recent months, the trail led her further north, to this forest, these ruins—they _have_ to be here.

She's careful to keep her head down as she moves, slowly, calmly manoeuvring her way through the clusters of people. Hardly the only one wearing a cloak, she isn't terribly worried about getting recognised, but it doesn't hurt to be careful. She's already noted one or two faces she recognises from Skyhold, elves that she remembers seeing in passing but never learned the names of. Thinking back to those times, it seems like she was always rushing to or from something important. Another dangerous mission, another political squabble, another region on the verge of falling under Corypheus' control. Back then, so many people depended on the Inquisition and the Herald of Andraste (a moniker which has since fallen out of fashion, thankfully) to restore order. It might as well have happened in another life time—it certainly feels that way now, nearly three years later.

The inner sanctum of the temple is the largest room, but not many have lingered here—the ceiling has collapsed, leaving most of the floor heavily covered in rubble. In place of the ceiling is the clear night sky, a black background dotted with stars. What immediately draws her attention, however, is the eluvian toward the far wall. Judging by the shimmering surface, it's active. She forces herself to turn away, finding it far too easy to imagine Solas stepping through the mirror from some strange, forgotten place. She'd rather not jinx it.

Focus.

Keeper Istimaethoriel and the rest of the clan must be somewhere else in the temple. She moves on, noting the elven mosaics adorning the walls, and is reminded of Mythal's temple in the Arbor Wilds—what was left of it. These do not appear to be depicting any of the Evanuris, not that she can make out anyway. They illustrate scenes from elven history, seemingly intending to educate rather than inspire worship. She wanders through the temple, simultaneously scanning her surroundings for familiar faces and trying not to lose her sense of direction. Bringing back-up might not have been such a bad idea after all. Maybe they're right—maybe she _is_ getting too reckless for own good.

Suppose you have to start questioning your life choices when even the Iron Bull expresses concern for your health.

This way, she's less likely to risk detection though. In and out without a hitch. She just needs to see them, and then … Cassandra will be relieved to hear that Solas doesn't appear to be raising any kind of army out here. Not yet at least. She spies the occasional staff, but most of these elves don't look fit for fighting. She can't help but wonder what their role is in all of this; surely Solas must have some kind of plan for them, having led them here. The way they've gathered in little clusters of their own, outwardly still but with watchful eyes, she gets the distinct impression that they're all waiting for something—or someone.

Finally she sees a familiar face at the bottom of a stairway, then another, and then another. The remains of her clan are huddled together around their keeper, distinguished by her silver hair. Keeper Istimaethoriel is cradling a young elf by her side, long spidery fingers caressing the boy's hair soothingly. It's a gesture that Lavellan knows very well from when she was a child. Ages ago. Suddenly, Istimethoriel's gaze lifts, and their eyes lock.

“ _Da'len_ ,” Istimaethoriel says softly, rising. The keeper's movements are calm as she moves to meet her former ward, but emotion stirs in her lined face. Others behind her quickly scramble to their feet as well and rush close behind, all eager to reach their famous kin, some even calling out her name in their excitement.

Lavellan extends her right hand to them, pleased that they seem happy to see her—she's missed her clan more than she realised, and she can't stop the tears from filling her eyes as they embrace her, one after the other and then several at a time. She feels clumsy hugging with only one arm, and she tugs the stump further within her robes, aware of lingering looks.

“You needn't, child. We heard,” her keeper says sympathetically, missing nothing as usual, and draws Lavellan into her arms. “ _Ir abelas,_ _da'len_.”

“I'm fine,” Lavellan responds. In Skyhold's undercroft, Dagna is working hard to fashion a durable replacement for Lavellan's missing limb, and so far the prototypes have been promising. With her chin resting atop the other woman's shoulder, she's tempted to close her eyes, but doesn't, afraid that the action will prompt the tears to fall. A moment passes, and she pulls away slightly to look into the keeper's face, brows knitting into a frown. “I was worried. I've been trying to find you—why didn't you leave word for me when you left Wycome? How did you find this place—?”

Keeper Istimaethoriel starts to reply, but then her amber gaze flickers.

Behind Lavellan, an all too familiar voice responds, “One of my agents showed them the way.”


	2. Her Reminder

She schools her expression before she turns to face him. He's not wearing armour, which explains why she didn't hear him approach. He looks the same as when they first met in the Frostback Mountains, dressed in the plain coat of a mage apprentice. No staff though—suppose he doesn't need one anymore, if he ever did. A dull throb ripples through what remains of her left arm. _A wolf in sheep's clothing_. She won't let herself be fooled this time.

But she can't help but feel it, seeing him now, solemn and almost perfectly still as he returns her gaze steadily. The throbbing sensation rapidly moves down her front and weaves through her ribcage, wraps itself painfully around her heart like strings of yarn. For the second time, she reminds herself to focus; she knew going in that there was a chance Solas would turn up, and both she and her advisers planned for it.

In the back of her head, she recalls Leliana's mellifluous voice, “If he shows himself, find out as much as you can.”

Then Cassandra interrupting, “But do not risk a confrontation. Remember what he did to the qunari.”

As if she could forget. She doesn't fear for her life though—she _knows_ what that feels like, and this isn't it. If Solas wanted her dead, he could have just let the anchor do the job for him months back. He chose to save her instead, give her time. He wouldn't strike her down here, now, in front of her clan and everyone else who might be watching. Would he?

As if reading her mind, Solas says, “Peace, Inquisitor.”

“That's not my title anymore.”

“Perhaps not, for some. But you've still powerful allies at your disposal. Should I expect soldiers to descend upon this temple any second? Or perhaps a High dragon?” he asks wryly.

“Not just yet. Believe it or not, I wasn't tracking _you_.”

“And yet _I_ am the one you have found … Again. A happy coincidence?”

“Happy?” The ghost of a smile flickers across her lips, and she shakes her head. “No. My clan disappeared and no one could tell me where to. I decided to investigate.” A hand grips her shoulder reassuringly from behind, rubbing in gentle circles for a second before withdrawing.

“Of course you did.” Solas pauses, looking past Lavellan. “Will you please excuse us, Keeper?”

Solas has always been polite, but knowing his scepticism toward the Dalish, it's a little surprising to hear him speak to a Dalish keeper with something akin to reverence. Quickly, Lavellan glances over her shoulder. On second thought, her keeper possesses a quiet intelligence complemented by an unusual amount of insight, so maybe it isn't so odd that Solas has come to hold her in high regard. For whatever good that does anyone these days.

Istimaethoriel spreads her hands obligingly. “ _Ma nuvenin_ ,” she says to him, then directs her gaze at Lavellan. “Go on, _da'len._ We will remain here.”

Seeing past the woman who raised her to the elves she grew up with, all looking on with interest at a respectful distance, it doesn't feel right to leave them so soon—Lavellan's only just found them after all. But Istimaethoriel's words are reassuring, as was no doubt the intention. They'll be okay. Lavellan turns, and Solas gestures for her to walk with him. For a moment she hesitates, because she's experiencing a sense of déjà vu but struggles to place the memory. When Solas tilts his head at her, silently inquiring, she snaps out of it and moves forward.

She follows Solas a little warily back the way she came, sensing more eyes on her now than when she arrived alone the opposite way. She realises that the hood of her cloak has fallen back, probably during her reunion with her clan. It's fine, she admonishes herself, she just needs to stay on her guard. The elves in the halls don't seem hostile though, several of them mutter respectful greetings in Elvish as they pass. She can't help but wonder how much they know, if they're all privy to Fen'Harel's plan to restore the elves or … if perhaps they were lured here under false pretences, hoping for something better. Clearly Keeper Istimaethoriel is convinced that this temple is where the clan needed to be right now, so it must have been a compelling argument.

“You came alone,” Solas notes quietly, gently breaking her train of thought. “That was risky.”

“I can take care of myself,” she responds, not looking at him. “Bringing everyone wasn't necessary.”

“And ...” he prompts, raising a dark brow.

She shoots him a pointed look, flexing her jaw. “ _And_ this was personal to me. I needed to find my clan before the trail went cold.” What she means but won't say is that others would slow her down. Solas graciously doesn't comment, but instead says:

“And if your search came to a fight?”

Obviously, she sent scouts ahead. She's not _that_ reckless. But if their presence in the lush undergrowth surrounding the temple went unnoticed, she sees no reason to alert Solas to that fact now. “I judged it wouldn't,” she says concisely.

“You must have realised there was a chance they could lead you to me.”

She nods. “Leliana was quick to point that out as well.”

“Ah yes. I'm glad to hear your spymaster has remained vigilant since her failure to detect my deception.”

“Actually, I think that only made her more keen.”

He is silent for a beat, then asks, “And yourself?”

She stops walking.

There's nothing abrupt about it, just a slow, gradual halt. Solas walks a couple of paces ahead of her before realising that she's stopped in the middle of the hallway. She turns her head to look at one of the mosaics donning the walls. The tesserae have been crushed in places, but she can make out the subject just fine, staring her down. “This is you, isn't it?” she hums, frowning at the image in gold and green. “The Dread Wolf. All those murals, and the statues we saw … Must've been a laugh for you every time we came across them back then. Knowing we were clueless as can be.”

“Vhenan …”

Teeth clenching together. “Solas, did you use my clan as bait?”


End file.
